


An Ordinary Man

by firefly124



Series: An Ordinary Man [1]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-30
Updated: 2011-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:36:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefly124/pseuds/firefly124
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Byerly gets Ivan drunk, and one thing leads to another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
_Take that look of worry  
I’m an ordinary man  
They don’t tell me nothing  
So I find out all I can  
There’s a fire that’s been burning  
Right outside my door  
I can’t see but I feel it  
And it helps to keep me warm  
So I, I don’t mind  
No I, I don’t mind_

 _\--Phil Collins, “Take Me Home”_

 

The part of Ivan’s brain that could still form actual thoughts was wondering rather loudly what he thought he was doing. Why had he come home with Byerly? Why were they now necking furiously, the second they’d barely gotten inside his front door? Was he really drunk enough and desperate enough to be here? How far were they going to take this? And did he really mind? By found just the right spot on Ivan’s neck, and shorted out this round of second thoughts. Ivan felt one hand slip down to cup his buttocks as another eased him out of his shirt. Almost reflexively, he removed Byerly’s as well. Ivan could feel himself being steered slowly but steadily through the flat, as they left a trail of clothing to mark their passage.

 _God_ , what was he _doing_? They were in Byerly’s bedroom, now, having just bounced off the doorframe, and that realization brought him up short. Parts of him were thrilled, one in particular and quite evidently. But there was still a panicked corner of his brain spitting out a continual list of reasons this was a bad idea. Perhaps they should have taken this a bit slower. Another bottle or two of wine might not be a bad idea. Not sufficiently convincing, apparently, as Ivan allowed himself to be backed towards the bed, the trail of clothing exhausted, until he had to either sit back or fall onto it. The feel of the soft bedcovers on his bare skin made him shiver. Or perhaps that was something Byerly was causing. The man definitely knew how to kiss.

Ivan leaned into the embrace, savoring the novelty. By’s skin was much smoother than Ivan’s own, but still had things like hair in places none of Ivan’s other partners ever had. As he ran his hands along Byerly’s chest, he found that there were compensations for the lack of breasts. For one thing, he had a fair idea that if he handled these nipples the way he liked his own to be, he would not get a smack, a glare, or the cold shoulder for it. Turned out he was right, as By moaned softly into his mouth.

Then Ivan felt himself being pulled to the edge of the bed, and his mouth being reluctantly disengaged as By shifted to a kneeling position and brought his attention to Ivan’s chest in turn. Ivan sighed as his nipples were carefully bitten and tasted, and shivered as By stroked his thighs. Was he really going to … yes, he really was. Ivan buried his hands in Byerly’s hair and moaned. The ever-fainter panicked part of his brain piped up to say that while this might not be so different than the same act with a woman, it was going to be _quite_ different when it was his turn to do the same. Just then, By found a spot that Ivan had tried unsuccessfully to guide any number of women to, and Ivan decided he really didn’t care what that internal voice had to say.

Any remaining doubts fled as he felt a pleasantly wet finger explore his backside, and then press ever so slightly into him. He gasped and his grip in Byerly’s hair tightened. He was startled to feel him pull away, disengaging completely. He opened his eyes to find they were face to face.

“You liked that?” Byerly asked, with no trace of his usual sardonic tone.

“God, yes,” Ivan breathed before he could even think. He felt a flush creep up his neck.

“Good,” was all By said, as he moved in for a kiss. Ivan tried to encourage Byerly to go back to what he’d been doing, and instead found himself in an embrace very like a wrestling match. With a brief feeling of regret, he leapt into it with a will, despite wishing they could go back to what they’d been doing … or rather what Byerly had been doing … just a moment ago. But this was good, too, and now they were side by side on the bed. Ivan risked a glance downward, and marveled. Before he had time to think about it, he reached down to grasp, stroke, and explore. He was surprised to find Byerly as slick as he knew he must be, himself, and was rewarded with an urgent sound from the back of By’s throat. It took Byerly repeating himself for Ivan to realize there had been words in there. Just two. “Roll over.”

His body quivering, Ivan complied, though the room seemed to complete an extra rotation or two once he’d settled. He heard and felt Byerly get off the bed, and return. The finger that slipped into him this time was far more slippery than before, and Ivan moaned softly, clutching a pillow.

“You’re sure you like this?”

“God, yes,” Ivan repeated. “Please … don’t stop this time.” He moaned again as the finger became two, and eventually three. He would not have expected being stretched like this to feel so good. One or two of his more adventuresome girlfriends had pressed a fingertip inside, or perhaps just traced the outside, but nothing like this. Not even Lady … he really had better not think of her … him … whatever right now.

Then the fingers were gone, and Byerly was gripping his hips. Ivan knew a moment of returned panic, then yelped as he felt himself being split in two. Then nothing, no movement while his body adjusted to this new arrangement. The sound he made now was almost a whimper, as By said reassuring and completely undoable things like, “Relax.” Perhaps if they’d had more wine earlier, but it was a bit late for that, now. And surely the current situation was evidence that Ivan, at least, had had more than enough.

Inexplicably, after a few moments, he did find his body relaxing, and Byerly responded with slow, firm movements. There was something soothing about the rhythm of it, and Ivan sighed some odd mixture of relief and enjoyment. After a few moments and at some unspoken signal, they both began to move a bit more earnestly. Ivan found himself being almost ground into the bedclothes, and was surprised to find that felt good, too. In fact, he soon found himself fast approaching the peak that had been in sight earlier, and when Byerly changed his angle just a bit, Ivan cried out as he felt himself explode into a million pieces, or at least onto the bedcover, then lay spent and quivering as By continued to seek, then found his own release in him.

Later, as they lay under the covers, Ivan had time to reflect. He looked at the sleeping face on his shoulder, and felt a fondness he would never have expected. He wondered somewhat muzzily if this would be the one-night stand he had expected, to the extent he had expected any of this. And as he wondered, he dozed, and finally slept.


	2. Chapter 2

Ivan wasn’t sure exactly what woke him, but he strongly suspected it was the throbbing hangover. He groaned softly, and reached for a pillow to cram over his head. This was about when he realized he was not in his own bed, nor was he alone. He squinted his eyes open and just made out a smear of brunette on the pillow next to him. Right, then. He’d just have to drag himself home first, and then deal with the hangover. At least he was reasonably sure this must be an off-duty day. It had been years since he’d been stupid enough to get seriously drunk on a work night.

He eased himself out of the bed gently, with a well-practiced talent for not waking his slumbering partner. Morning after conversations tended to be so awkward. He considered trying to locate some of his clothing, then decided a trip to the lav was the higher priority.

As he emptied his bladder, he became gradually aware that he was rather a mess. What exactly had he done with whoever-she-was last night? A shower, too, then. A quick and hopefully quiet shower. He adjusted the water temperature and stepped in.

For a moment he just enjoyed the warm water hitting his face and sluicing down the front of his body. Remembering he wanted to make this fast, and could take a much more luxurious shower at his own flat, he located the soap and started to clean up. He thought the spicy scent of the soap seemed unusually familiar, though he couldn’t quite place it, nor could he imagine too many young ladies favoring it. He tried to remember something, anything, about last night. Clearly he’d enjoyed himself, though it was a tad unusual to find the evidence of that spread over half his abdomen. His head hurt too much to try very hard, though. Perhaps some of it would come back later. Fully rinsed on this side, he turned to let the water hit his back.

“Ou- “ he half-yelped, before covering his mouth. _What the hell?_ He quickly shut off the water and stood in stunned silence. OK, this was a bit more mystery than he liked out of his mornings after. Why did his ass _sting_ when the water hit it? Getting home so he could kill this hangover and sort out the events of last night became more imperative than it had already been. He stepped out of the shower, found a towel, and quickly dried off.

His cousin, Miles, had once tried to explain to him what it had been like to finally regain his memories after his cryo-revival. A “cascade,” he’d called it, and had said that was a rather apt term. Of course, Miles hadn’t been sodding drunk when he’d gotten himself blown nearly in half in the first place. Ivan thought this flood of hazy images and sensations was more like getting swirled through eddies of a muddy stream than being stuck under a waterfall.

 _Lips pressed furiously against his … a warm mouth pleasuring him … pain that became pleasure … pain in his …_

Ivan had to remind himself to start breathing again.

He got rid of the towel and stood by the door, steeling himself to go back into that room. It wasn’t like he had a choice. This lav didn’t even have a window, assuming he’d have been willing to go out it stark naked. Not that it would have been the first time. He touched the pad to the side of the door, and it slid aside silently. Ivan peered into the room, and saw the figure in the bed still sleeping, still facing away from him. He found the urge to get closer and see who it was entirely resistible.

He stole silently out of the bedroom and looked with dismay at the trail of clothing he was going to have to sort through. It took him a few minutes, as a couple of items were remarkably similar. When he was reasonably sure he’d gotten only his own clothes on, he took one last look around, but nothing caught his eye to tell him where he was. He let himself out, and exited the building, barely acknowledging the door attendant’s “Good morning, Lord Vorpatril.” He’d gotten about two paces beyond the door before he realized he didn’t know how he’d gotten there, and didn’t want to have to come back for either his groundcar or his lightflyer. He re-entered the building, and asked the attendant to bring his vehicle around, hoping they kept a record of that sort of thing and wouldn’t ask him for more details.

After a few moments, his groundcar was brought to the front door. He thanked the attendant, dug in his pocket for a suitable gratuity, then fled, hoping he did not look like he was fleeing. _Well, it’s not like they’d know which tenant I spent the night with._ He gulped. _Unless the night attendant noted that sort of thing along with what vehicle I … we arrived in._ Thus distracted, Ivan did not take note of quite where he was, but simply started driving. Eventually, he registered the streets he was traveling, but by this point that information only served to help him find his way home, not to tell him where he’d been.


	3. Chapter 3

It was late afternoon, and Ivan had managed (mostly) to stop thinking about where and how he had woken up earlier. OK, he had clearly gotten utterly drunk and had a very … adventuresome night, probably with someone he’d never see again. When his thoughts drifted back this way, into those endless muddy eddies, something nagged at the back of his brain, but whatever it was, was too fuzzy to sort out. Meanwhile, he was finding a surprising amount of things in his flat that required his attention. For example, when had he last sorted the collections of Vorpatril holos his mother insisted upon giving him every Winterfair? Yes, it was a mind-numbing task, but today it seemed quite important that it be done.

 

He started when his comconsole chimed. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved to be interrupted, or worried who might be calling. It had only chimed once, so just a message, then. He seated himself at it, and keyed up the note. He read it twice, uncomprehendingly.

 

> Ivan,
> 
> I believe you took my belt, and left me yours. While this may have some sort of arcane or sentimental significance to you, I would rather like mine returned. Please do stop by so we can switch them back.
> 
> Byerly

 

Ivan blinked several times, then got up slowly and went to his room. He picked up the belt from its hook in the closet. No, it really wasn’t his. He sat down hard on the edge of his bed, then collapsed back onto it.

 

 _Lips pressed furiously against his … a warm mouth descending upon and pleasuring him … pain that became pleasure … a smear of brunette on the pillow next to him -- short brunette hair … kisses more intense than he’d ever experienced … the streets he’d traveled to get home … the pain when the water of the shower and probably a bit of soap had run into the crack of his ass …_

 

 _This isn’t happening,_ Ivan thought. _I did not sleep with Byerly Vorrutyer last night._

 

Of course, no other explanations leapt to mind, saving perhaps madness. And if one of them was going to go mad, surely By would be first in line with his family heritage? Ivan was horrified. At the same time, he was not entirely sure if he was horrified because of what he’d evidently done, or because his horror quotient seemed rather lower than he thought it ought to be.

 

 _And he wants his damned belt back. Even implied I took it as a, a keepsake or something._

 

Ivan was surprised to find he was still holding it. He supposed he could send it back without actually going back there. There remained the problem of how to package the belt so that either a courier or the mail service would not find themselves wondering why they were transporting a belt from Lord Ivan Vorpatril to Lord Byerly Vorrutyer. Or, really, why they were transporting _anything_ from Lord Ivan Vorpatril to Lord Byerly Vorrutyer. So, going there was probably the best idea. Otherwise, he might just find By showing up here at some inopportune moment. It wasn’t as though he’d never done so before.


	4. Chapter 4

Ivan was less than thrilled to find himself handing off his groundcar to the same attendant who’d retrieved it that morning. Especially since this time, the man had to call Byerly on the intercom before sending him up the lift tube. Ivan tried to look bland, but feared he just looked as uncomfortable as he felt.

 

When he finally arrived at By’s apartment, he was unsurprised to find the man standing in his doorway, waiting. His stomach felt queasy, as he tried for the millionth time to sort out just what he was going to say.

 

“Why Ivan,” Byerly effused, “I never expected you to respond to my message so promptly.” He made no move to invite his guest inside.

 

“Er, can I come in, then?” Ivan muttered.

 

“Of course, of course.” Byerly stepped inside and bowed Ivan in. As the door started to slide shut, but long before it finished closing, he added, “You’re in just as much a rush as you were last night. One wonders if you have similar plans.”

 

Ivan glanced back as the door finally closed, and wondered if any of By’s neighbors had heard that. Or had heard … whatever last night. He thought his eyes might be crossing. He also thought watching that door shut felt an awful lot like watching that pumping chamber access hatch close behind him at the Thames Tidal Barrier. He tried to swallow and found his throat was too dry. Reluctantly, he swung his gaze back to Byerly.

 

“So, you’re wearing it, then,” By was saying, with a wicked gleam in his eye. “I’m … touched. I do still want it back, though.”

 

Ivan shrugged. “It made more sense than walking around carrying an extra.” He began to remove it, and felt himself flush as he realized he must have done something quite similar last night. Or who removed what? The clothes were awfully scrambled. Eep. He handed the belt over and asked, “So where’s mine?”

 

“Just where you left it,” By gestured towards a chair which, yes, did have a belt flung over its back. “Or just where I left it, depending on how you look at it.” Ivan glared at him, but was unsurprised to see merely a quirked eyebrow for a response.

 

As he snatched the belt off the chair and fastened it on, Ivan realized that Byerly was now between him and the door. His feeling of claustrophobia jumped a notch. No, wait, he’d just cinched his belt a notch too tight. He adjusted it quickly, and wondered what he would say or do next. He had about a million questions he wanted answers to, and had absolutely no intention of asking them. It was clear that By was having entirely too much fun rubbing his face in it all, and would probably not give him anything resembling a straight answer.

 

“Right, I should get going, then,” Ivan said, a bit more gruffly than he’d intended. What was wrong with his throat?

 

“So soon? But you’ve only just gotten here,” Byerly protested, and pouted dramatically.

 

One of those vague memories drifted up to remind Ivan that those pouting lips were actually quite skilled. He set his own mouth firmly, and replied, “Yes, well, busy day tomorrow. Got to meet with m’mother about some things, so I’d best be getting ready for that.” Ah, yes, good. Remind Byerly that they would _both_ be flayed alive by Lady Alys if word of this got … anywhere.

 

“Really?” Byerly was asking, as Ivan brushed past him heading for the door. “But I thought she said tomorrow she’d be …”

 

Ivan didn’t wait to hear what his mother was supposedly doing tomorrow. Actually doing, belike. He had no plans to go anywhere near her. Not while he was still sorting out these needle-like feelings racing around the shoulder that had just grazed Byerly’s. As he stepped into the downward lift-tube, he fancied he heard By’s door sliding shut.


	5. Chapter 5

Ivan woke up gasping for breath and overwhelmed with panic. His heart pounding in his ears, he sat up straight and scanned the room for intruders. Finding it clear, he clamped his mouth shut, slowed his breathing, and listened carefully. No sounds from anywhere else in the flat, either. Just like the last several mornings. He hadn’t bothered checking the other rooms since the third time he’d woken up like this.

 

It wasn’t a nightmare, or if it was, he didn’t remember it. He just kept waking up as if he’d heard … something. Something dangerous, though he had no idea what. Something that would kill him, or at least hurt him very badly. Whatever it was, it felt like the sort of danger he generally only ran into when his cousin Miles had dragged him into one of his mad schemes. Miles, however, was away on a galactic honeymoon at the moment, so for once Ivan was terrified of something that had nothing to do with him.

 

It wasn’t as though he needed a psychologist or his Aunt Cordelia to tell him what he was so afraid of, either. Whether he was dreaming or not, clearly his mind was still working on sorting out his night with Byerly. He’d wrestled with the problem enough during his waking hours to be quite sure he wasn’t going to resolve anything that way. Clearly he didn’t give up on it when he was asleep, either, and it wasn’t going to just go away. If he was ever to get any actual rest, he needed to find some sort of resolution. He needed someone to talk to.

 

Ivan dragged himself into his bachelor kitchen and made himself some coffee. It was still a bit early, but he might as well start his day, and perhaps by the time he reported to work he’d feel a bit more human. He rooted around and by the time the coffee was ready he’d found himself something to pass for breakfast. He sipped his coffee, ate, and thought.

 

Someone to talk to. That was a novel concept.He ran through the potential candidates in his mind. Even if he’d been on-planet, Miles was a definite no. The same went for Aunt Cordelia. Oh, they’d both be understanding. But Miles would torment him anyway, and while Aunt Cordelia was more likely to be helpful, she also had the tendency to leave his skull feeling like it had been polished on the inside with a wire brush. Besides, she was off-planet as well, busy being Vicereine of Sergyar. His own mother was straight out. She had enough to say about Ivan’s marital status (or lack of it) and sex life (or excess of it in her view) already. He wasn’t going to hand her more ammunition. Besides … his mother?

 

But his list was running out. He just didn’t get very close with anyone, really. Never had. His circle of friends had always been essentially the same since childhood: Miles, Elena, and Gregor. Not that they’d stayed as close as they’d gotten older, what with Gregor being Emperor and Elena being a mercenary (now retired, but still off-planet), and all. But most other friends he’d made, he’d kept at arm’s length. Even the Koudelka girls, for all that he and Miles used to escort them somewhat interchangeably.

 

Actually, there was the germ of an idea. He pondered as he continued to work at his breakfast. The more he thought, the better he liked it. It was perfect, really. Once he’d finished eating and cleaned up, he made a couple of comm calls, and an appointment. As he proceeded to get ready for work, he felt better than he had in days.


	6. Chapter 6

“I have to say Ivan, the last thing I expected was to wake up this morning to a comm call from you, asking me to dinner for ‘relationship advice,’” said Kareen Koudelka. She paused to take a sip of the wine the waiter had just delivered. “First of all, I wouldn’t expect you to need it. And secondly, why come to me?”

 

Ivan gulped some of his wine. “You’re uniquely qualified to help me with this, I think.”

 

“Oh?” she encouraged. When he didn’t answer right away, she looked around and took in the private dining room he’d reserved for them. “Qualified how?” she finally asked.

 

“Well, you did study a bit of psychology while you were on Beta Colony, even if you didn’t end up pursuing it further.” _Hell, just the fact that you spent two years on Beta Colony is probably a qualification by itself. I mean, you’ve even been to the Orb._

 

The Orb of Unearthly Delights was a galactically famous resort offering a wide range of sexual recreations for individuals, couples, and groups in any combination of three genders. She’d gone there with his cousin Mark during their first year of school on Beta Colony, which had caused quite a stir when her parents had found out. Somehow she’d weathered that storm, and was still with Mark. Mark the unstable clone who’d been created and programmed to assassinate and replace Miles, and then continue on some insane plot to topple the Barrayaran Empire. Mark who’d had two years of intensive Betan therapy with Kareen at his side, sometimes literally, Ivan gathered. All of this added up to Kareen being the perfect confidante. Not only was she more sexually liberated in attitude than the average Barrayaran, male or female, but she had some experience with the process of sorting out lunatics, if only as bystander and support.

 

Kareen’s eyebrows rose a bit at that. “Well, then, who is she, and why does this relationship require pseudo-Betan therapy?”

 

Ivan gulped more wine, and was granted a reprieve when the waiter returned with their dinners. He applied himself to his meal with an enthusiasm he didn’t feel. In fact, he barely tasted his food at all. Shame, too, this really was a very good restaurant. But he managed to feign starvation sufficiently well that they’d both finished their dinners and ordered desserts before Kareen pressed the issue.

 

“OK, Ivan, out with it. What is going on? You wanted to talk, or we wouldn’t be here.” She fixed him with a no nonsense stare. Such a sharp look on her otherwise soft and kind features prodded him to the task at hand.

 

“Right, then,” Ivan began. “So a few nights ago, I’d gotten a bit … well, I’d had rather too much to drink.” He could see Kareen visibly restraining herself from rolling her eyes. “And the next morning I found myself in bed with someone, and didn’t remember anything about the night before.”

 

This time she did roll her eyes. “Ivan, you can’t tell me that was a new experience for you. In fact, you’ve probably just described a rather large percentage of your mornings after.”

 

“Well, yes,” he replied sheepishly, then became more withdrawn. He continued more softly, “but this time was different.”

 

“Different, how?”

 

Ivan looked at her hands, her Escobaran style blouse, and her delicately curled blonde hair. How was it he’d never woken up next to one of the Koudelka sisters, then? He supposed it was knowing them too long, until they were almost like his sisters. That and some idea that Commodore Koudelka would use that infamous swordstick of his on anyone who tried it. Though Mark had notably survived somehow. Finally, Ivan steeled himself, looked her straight in the eye, and said, “It was a man.”

 

He had to give her credit. Her eyes widened in obvious surprise, but she didn’t gasp, faint, or burst out laughing. Thus encouraged, he continued, “I still don’t remember much about it, just bits and pieces, really. But … I’m positive we did more than sleep in the same bed.”

 

“That’s … of all the things I’d imagined, I have to say that never entered my head at all,” Kareen said at last. He watched her expression as she shifted into what appeared to be a clinical mode. “So, what do you think about that?”

 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was horrified. Am horrified. Especially because of who … but I have no idea what to do now.”

 

“Well,” she said carefully, “who says you have to do anything, now? So you drank enough to lower your inhibitions more than usual, and experimented. You could still write it off as just another one-night stand, couldn’t you?”

 

“I thought I could,” Ivan found himself slumping into his seat. “But I haven’t been sleeping. Or, at least, I wake up terrified, have no idea why, and feel like I haven’t slept a wink.”

 

“No idea why?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Ivan began to reconsider whether Kareen was actually a safer confidante than his aunt. She certainly wasn’t going to let him get away with anything in this conversation.

 

“Well, not no idea,” he admitted. “I just don’t know if I’m afraid of what happened, or afraid someone will find out, or what.”

 

Kareen swirled her wine and appeared to contemplate it carefully. The waiter returned with their desserts, and then they were alone again. “Did you consider those are not the only possibilities?”

 

His brow creased as he tried to scare up some more. “Um, no?” Being afraid of whatever part of himself had led to that situation was at the top of his list, such as it was. Wine or no wine, something like that did not just come from nowhere.

 

“Hmm.” She took a bite of her dessert, some sort of fruit pastry. Ivan ignored his. “Well, here are at least two others: you’re afraid it will happen again, or you’re afraid it won’t.”

 

Ivan sat in stunned silence. He found himself in those eddies of memories again. _Lips pressed furiously against his … a warm mouth descending upon and pleasuring him skillfully … pain that became pleasure …_ Even that last bit was essentially a good memory, vague as it was. But he wasn’t … he liked women dammit. And this was Byerly of all people! And he was in the Service, and his mother would kill him, and Miles would torment him until the end of time. But those were pretty good memories.

 

“Maybe both?” he was embarrassed by the way his voice squeaked on that.

 

Kareen looked at him sympathetically, but said nothing. He looked at her, beseechingly he hoped, willing her to tell him what to do. Since she wasn’t cooperating, he finally asked, “What am I supposed to do?”

 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But since you don’t know what you’re supposed to do either, how about trying to figure out what you _want_ to do?”

 

“What I wa … But I don’t know what that is, either,” he protested.

 

“Well, you started to say something about who you woke up with. So it’s someone you know, then, right?”

 

Ivan nodded carefully, hoping against hope she wouldn’t ask who, exactly, he’d gone and slept with. Miraculously, she didn’t.

 

“Then, what do you want to happen next with him?” she asked. Ivan looked blank. “Do you want to never see him again?”

 

“I’ve always thought I’d prefer never to see him again.” He’d spent a fair amount of energy towards that goal over the past couple of years, in fact, futile though it was. Between their jobs and the fact they traveled in social circles that frequently intersected, he couldn’t avoid Byerly completely.

 

“But now?”

 

“I … don’t know.” He looked at his hands and thought about the lingering sensations in his shoulder after he’d brushed past By as he'd left his apartment.

 

“Well, try the opposite. Do you want to see him again?”

 

Ivan pondered that a minute. “I sort of have to. Our paths cross pretty often.”

 

“I didn’t ask that, I asked if you want to.”

 

“I … don’t know.” Why couldn’t she focus on the easy questions, like what he thought would happen to his career if word of this ever got out, or what radius of land would be turned to glow-in-the-dark glass if his mother ever found out?

 

Kareen’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment he swore she was looking straight into his skull. She appeared to choose her next words very carefully.

 

“Do you want to kiss him again?”

 

“God … ” Ivan started to deny any such thing, but the hazy memory of Byerly’s lips pressing into his intruded, followed quickly by the much clearer memory of how he’d felt brushing against him as he left By’s apartment after returning his belt, and he spoke the next word before he realized what he was saying, “… yes!”

 

He opened his eyes, which he hadn’t realized he’d closed, and saw Kareen smiling at him understandingly.

 

“Then I guess you know which of your options you want to exercise,” she said, with an odd emphasis he didn’t quite grasp.

 

“But how …”

 

“Ivan,” she interrupted, clearly exasperated, “of all the people on this planet, surely you can manage to plan a _date_. In fact,” she swept her hand to encompass the room they were in, “I’m quite certain of it.”

 

“Oh.” Ask Byerly on a date. Of course. Here? “Umm.”

 

“I’m also certain that if even this is too public, you can come up with something else.”

 

Ivan thought about it a bit. Yes, he probably could pull off a dinner at his apartment. He nodded, and was relieved to see her annoyance melt into something more like her normal sweetness. Secure in having a plan of action, such as it was, he picked up his fork and addressed his dessert, as he started sorting out ideas for how to set up a date with Byerly.


	7. Chapter 7

“I have to say, Ivan, after the way you left last week, this is unexpected,” said Byerly, as he took in the carefully laid table. He strolled over to pick the bottle of wine out of its bucket, and raised an eyebrow as he examined the vintage. “Very unexpected.”

 

Ivan reached for the bottle, which he then opened, and poured a glass for each of them. He was very impressed at how little his hands shook, doing this. Awkwardly, he motioned for Byerly to sit. He didn’t suppose one pulled out the chair for one’s male date, after all. He wheeled over a cart with several covered dishes on it, and began to serve them both.

 

“Really, Ivan, it’s quite gallant of you, but I assure you that I can ladle my own peas,” Byerly protested after a moment.

 

“Right,” Ivan gave in and sat down. He contemplated his own plate, and more to the point his glass of wine. Appealing as it looked, he had no intention of having too much. The whole point was _not_ to add another bunch of muddled half-memories, after all. He had quite deliberately set only the one bottle to chill.

 

He had put a lot of thought into this dinner, ever since his conversation of two nights ago with Kareen. It was now exactly a week since the night he and Byerly had spent together, which seemed appropriate somehow. He’d pulled out one of his few sets of stylish civvies and gotten them cleaned up for the occasion. Normally he preferred to show off his dress greens, but By had mocked him on more than one occasion in the past for it. The apartment was spotless, the dinner was from a prime Vorbarr Sultana caterer, the wine was a fine Vorkosigan vintage, and he’d set a table even his mother would not be able to fault. The one thing he hadn’t worked out, of course, was what he was going to say. He took a large swallow of wine.

 

“So what’s this about, then, Vorpatril?” By was asking. “The last thing I expected, after the way you stormed out of my flat, was an invitation to dinner.”

 

“I … I thought probably we should talk,” Ivan said hesitantly.

 

“You didn’t seem like you wanted to talk,” Byerly’s eyes narrowed. “Before or after, actually.”

 

Ivan wilted. “I don’t … remember a whole lot about that night,” he admitted. “And I wasn’t ready to talk the next day.”

 

“Really?” Byerly’s voice had a tone Ivan did not much care for. “How disappointing.” He sliced into his vat-steak, and made sure Ivan was watching him as he carefully popped it into his mouth. Ivan decided the safest thing to do was to eat something himself. Maybe if he did that, By would keep talking. Why did he want By to keep talking? Normally he wished Byerly would stop talking, or better yet stop breathing anywhere nearby. But now he wasn’t sure if he just wanted to avoid speaking himself, or if he actually wanted to hear the man’s voice. His sneering, annoying voice. Ivan took another bite of his dinner and forcibly kept his gaze on his plate.

 

After a few moments during which they both ate in silence, Ivan decided glumly that Byerly was a bit too well-trained in espionage to start giving away vital intelligence just to fill conversational deadspace. He was also surely constitutionally incapable of giving a straight answer to any of the questions Ivan had. Ivan stole a glance at him, and thought he surprised a very un-Byerly expression that quickly reverted to his far more customary air of arrogant superiority. Surely an optical illusion, because Byerly never looked concerned or vulnerable, much less some combination of the two.

 

Byerly did finally lean back from the table, wipe his mouth with his napkin, and break the silence. “So, then, Ivan, what do you want to talk about?”

 

Ivan set down his fork, wiped his own mouth, and answered, “I want to know what the hell happened, and why, and what’s supposed to happen now.”

 

Byerly raised his eyebrows at this uncharacteristic bluntness, but rose to the challenge. “So, start with a play by play then? Well, we started with some kissing …”

 

“I don’t mean that.” Ivan waved this off, flushing. “I figured out the essentials, at least some of who did what to whom.”

 

“Ha, so you do remember something.”

 

“Bits and pieces, plus physical evidence,” Ivan parried. “I’m more interested in what we were doing before we … started any of that, and then why.”

 

Byerly crossed his arms and studied the man across the table as though he’d just seen him for the first time. “Not quite as thick as you look then.”

 

Ivan trusted that wasn’t a typical Byerly double-entendre. Clearly not complimentary in any case.

 

“We ran into each other at a bar down in the caravanserai,” By continued. “We were both on our own, didn’t know anyone else there, and evidently got drunk enough we decided not to be each on our own anymore.”

 

That was a straighter answer than Ivan had expected. It even sounded true, mostly. He had been trolling a few new locations lately. Still, there had to be more to it than that.

 

“So that’s why we were drinking together. Doesn’t explain the rest.”

 

“Doesn’t it?” Byerly countered archly. Ivan squirmed. After a moment Byerly continued, “That isn’t what you really want to ask anyway, is it?”

 

“It’s part of it.”

 

“Ah, yes, then there’s that last bit you asked: ‘what’s supposed to happen now?’” Byerly’s eyes narrowed and Ivan’s breath caught in his throat. “How the hell do you expect me to answer that, Vorpatril, after the way you acted?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Ivan managed. “I told you, I wasn’t ready to talk yet that day.” He paused, straightened, and said rather more firmly, “It’s not like you were making it any easier, either.”

 

Byerly gestured towards himself with a look of feigned innocence, then relented. “No, I suppose not.”

 

“Well, what did you, do you want to happen next?” Ivan pressed.

 

“Honestly, I had expected you to just pretend it never happened,” Byerly admitted.

 

Ivan swore he caught a glimpse of that odd expression on his face again, though it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He thought about what Byerly had said, and remembered Kareen’s response to a similar evasion he’d made.

 

“That’s not what I asked, though, is it?”

 

“You’re the one who invited me to this intimate little dinner, Vorpatril,” Byerly said, glaring, “so how about you tell me what _you_ want to happen next.”

 

Ivan was taken aback. He had sort of assumed, on some level, that Byerly had been the one who had initiated things that night, and that he must have some sort of idea what he wanted to come of it. Granted, the attitude was pure classic Byerly, but something about this conversation was just off. Ivan pinched the bridge of his nose. Barely a glass of wine in him and he had a headache starting. It was bloody unfair, that was what.

 

“You mean to tell me that night wasn’t part of some twisty scheme of yours? To ruin my career, or my reputation, or possibly to distract m’mother with when she got mad at you for some stupid thing you’d done on your job?”

 

Byerly looked frankly aghast, now. “You think I’d tell Lady Alys Vorpatril that I’d screwed her son? Madness may run in my family, Ivan, but I’m neither mad enough nor suicidal enough to do anything like that. Distract her? That’d just give her more ammunition!”

 

Ivan had to allow as how that was true. He also noticed that odd hitch in his breathing had come back when By had come right out and said what they’d done. He covered this with a shrug.

 

“Anyway, I’m not the one continually caught up in twisted schemes. You’ve been around your cousin too much, Ivan.”

 

Ivan stared down his nose at By for that one. “Right, because setting up an ambush for your cousin, so that you could foil it, but then lost control of it so I got to deal with it, that’s not a twisted scheme at all.”

 

It was Byerly’s turn to shrug. “That was nearly two years ago. And we’ve gotten pretty far off the point.”

 

“So we have.” Ivan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He squared his shoulders, set his jaw, and said, “Fine. I don’t know what I want to happen after tonight. But I do want to know whether what happened last week was just because we were drunk – or just because I was drunk, I’m still not convinced you were nearly as far gone – or whether there was anything more to it than that.”

 

“Meaning?” By raised his eyebrows. Ivan took a deep breath and forged ahead.

 

“Meaning I want to see what happens if I’m not drunk, and find out what I want when I can remember what happened.” Ivan ran down and had to force himself not to slump as he felt whatever energy had propelled that out of him dissipate. He watched Byerly intently to see his reaction. He did catch another unguarded expression fleetingly, but a different one this time, and too fast to interpret before his face reverted to its usual cool aloofness.

 

“And if that isn’t what I want?”

 

“You still haven’t said what that is,” Ivan pointed out.

 

Byerly appeared to consider that for a moment, then pushed back from the table and stood up. From long-trained habit, Ivan began to stand as well, wondering if By was just going to leave. But before he’d gotten halfway up, Byerly was there, cupping Ivan’s face in his hands, and kissing him with those lips, one of the few things he’d been able to remember. Ivan found himself responding to the caress far more intensely than he’d have expected. He sat back into the chair and pulled Byerly into his lap, parting his lips and letting their tongues dance. It was an eternity later, and entirely too soon, that their mouths parted, and they leaned forehead to forehead catching their breath.

 

“Didn’t you just say this isn’t what you want?” Ivan asked.

 

“Not exactly, no,” Byerly answered, reaching to trace the lines of Ivan’s neck and shoulders. “I meant I don’t want just another experiment. But since you don’t remember the last one, I suppose it’s only fair.” He lowered his mouth to Ivan’s again, and traced the outlines of his lips lightly with the very tip of his tongue. Ivan shuddered, and angled to catch that tongue with his own, burying a hand in Byerly’s hair and holding him still so that he could probe and explore. As his fingers gently stroked through By’s hair, Ivan was surprised to find he was already becoming very aroused.

 

There was something very freeing about knowing that this wasn’t the first time, even though he couldn’t really remember the first time. On the one hand, the lack of memory made it all feel new. On the other, whatever lines he was crossing, had already been crossed. This was just confirmation whether he wanted to keep crossing them. And whether he wanted to keep crossing them with By, who was certainly an excellent kisser, but was also still an extremely annoying person to be around. An annoying, but somehow quite impressive person.

 

A creak from the chair recalled them both to more practical concerns. Byerly stood up and Ivan followed, apologizing, “It’s not exactly built for two, I suppose.” They both looked around, as if to decide where to move to. Ivan glanced at the door to his bedroom, considering, and was surprised to feel Byerly tugging at his elbow in the opposite direction, guiding him to the sofa.

 

By answered his surprised look, saying, “We’ll get there, just not yet.” _Oh._ Ivan allowed himself to be led, and watched with interest as Byerly arranged himself invitingly. How did he manage that? Every fold of his suit lay just perfectly to attract the eye to his various charms, and the angle at which he sat was somehow suggestive, but not as overtly so as Ivan would have expected of him.

 

Ivan sank down next to him, leaned over in search of another kiss, and took advantage of this new arrangement to explore Byerly a bit more. He was surprised that he was not more disappointed by the lack of breasts, but acknowledged with a vague sense of déjà vu that he must have dealt with that already. He was equally surprised, as he ran his hands under By’s jacket, that not only were By’s shoulders quite broad for such a slim man (he’d always suspected sartorial enhancement of some sort), but that he found them so enjoyable. He eased the jacket off.

 

After several minutes, Ivan was sure of at least one thing: he should never have given up on the marathon necking sessions of his brief virginal adolescence. How and why had he ever decided to race past this glorious and tantalizing experience with any of his lovers? He traced the lines of Byerly’s surprisingly defined muscles through his luxurious silk shirt, and marveled at the contrast, and just how exciting he found it. Though, nice as it felt, he realized he was beginning to get annoyed with it, too. He moved to slip it off, and was surprised when Byerly pushed him back.

 

For several seconds, found himself being examined with an expression that made him feel like some sort of scientific specimen, or perhaps like one of By’s informants that he’d been assigned to evaluate. Finally he appeared to come to some decision, and stood up. Ivan followed suit, and they walked towards his bedroom. Ivan noticed that his own clothing was surprisingly unmussed, and realized that Byerly had barely touched him, for all that he’d been an enthusiastic participant in the kissing, indeed had started it, and had made gratifying noises in response to Ivan’s explorations. Ivan wasn’t sure what to make of that.


	8. Chapter 8

He didn’t have much time to wonder, though. Once Ivan had led Byerly into the room, he found himself caught in a bone-crunching embrace that let up only so By could strip away Ivan’s jacket and shirt as well as his own shirt. Whatever restraint he’d been practicing before was clearly tossed into the wind, and Ivan found his shoulders, back, and chest being ruthlessly explored, as demanding kisses rained along his neck. Ivan gasped as Byerly grabbed his ass and pressed their hips together fiercely, making it abundantly clear that he was just as aroused as Ivan. Ivan responded in kind, and was startled when Byerly jumped and pulled back.

 

“What,” Ivan panted, “the hell?”

 

Byerly’s face was completely unreadable. He shook his head as if to clear it, then advanced on Ivan again. This time Ivan held him back.

 

“No, wait a minute,” Ivan insisted. “What the hell was that, and how is it even possible that you’re the one getting skittish?” That was a very good question, actually. For all that this was really the second time, Ivan thought he ought to be a bit more nervous considering all that he didn’t remember. _When did this stop being something I had to do, something I needed to do so I could move past it, and become something I want to do?_

 

“It was … an old reflex,” Byerly replied in a low voice, looking suddenly both much older and much younger somehow. “Nothing to do with you, I’m not skittish, and for that matter,” he leered, looking rather more like himself again, “I’m  
thinking it’s about time we moved to the bed.”

 

Still somewhat bewildered, Ivan agreed. He went to the bed, sat down, and pulled Byerly to sit next to him. This time as they resumed kissing, Ivan found himself becoming hyperalert to Byerly’s responses, trying carefully to avoid tripping any other “old reflexes.” He thought he had an idea what By was alluding to, but didn’t think he should press him on the subject. Not now, anyway.

 

Slowly he began to lose himself again in the sheer overwhelming wave of sensations. Byerly’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once, though his mouth traveled in a slow and deliberate progression. As he felt his trousers and briefs being removed, he reopened his eyes to watch with interest as By positioned himself between his legs. Ivan buried his hands in Byerly’s hair, and heard himself moan with pleasure. He closed his eyes and marveled at By’s expertise with lips, tongue, and oh yes, hands. He continued gently stroking Byerly’s hair, and when he felt as though things were nearing critical mass, he slipped a hand under By’s chin and guided him to come back up for a kiss.

 

“What the hell?” asked Byerly, echoing Ivan’s earlier protest.

 

“Not yet,” Ivan said, when he found his voice after a few breaths. He began to remove Byerly’s trousers, and caught a glint of understanding in his eyes.

 

Once the trousers and briefs were gone, he took a moment just to look at Byerly’s nude body. Without his usual loudly expensive clothes, he actually looked quite handsome. Ivan had never realized that those bright and expertly tailored suits were concealing such an amazingly chiseled body. He was slender, yes, but not skinny as his projected image suggested. Rather, his muscles corded tightly around his frame in an amazingly appealing fashion. Ivan traced a set of thigh muscles wonderingly, then moved on to more intimate explorations. He was rewarded with a soft moan. Encouraged, he moved to add mouth to hands. Byerly’s hands tightened on his shoulders briefly, and he wondered if By didn’t want this, either. He looked up at him, and instead surprised an open smile on his face. He wasn’t sure if he should find that reassuring or unsettling, but it was clearly not an objection.

 

Entranced by Byerly’s musky scent, Ivan contemplated how to go about this. He struggled to recall and copy what others had done to him, including Byerly just now. Finally he simply took him into his mouth and sucked lightly as By’s hips moved beneath him. After several minutes, he felt a hand slip under his chin, and guide him upwards. Looking into Byerly’s lust-glazed eyes, he realized he had been on the brink, too.

 

“You’re sure you want to do exactly what we did last week?” Byerly asked gruffly. Ivan could only nod. Silence for a moment. “Where do you have the lubricant, then?”

 

“The what?” Ivan asked.

 

“Lubricant,” By repeated. Realization dawned across his features. “You didn’t … you don’t … angh!”

 

“What?” Ivan had no idea what Byerly was on about.

 

“Ivan, you i… you can’t just do … that,” Byerly explained impatiently, “without some kind of lotion, oil, something. It’d hurt like hell!”

 

“Oh.” Apparently one of the things that hadn’t made it into his memory.

 

“Do you have anything around here that fits that description?”

 

“Um.” Ivan levered himself up off the bed and ducked into the lav. He returned with a small bottle of skin conditioning oil and handed it over. “Will this do?”

 

By examined it, and pronounced it acceptable. Ivan lay back onto the bed next to him. “This will work better if you lay on your stomach,” Byerly said.

 

Oh. He supposed that made sense. He rolled over and grabbed a pillow to prop under his chin. He felt rather at a loss for what to do with his hands, so he hugged the pillow. Not very satisfactory, but By had moved out of reach, so what else was he supposed to do? He heard him pop the cap off the bottle. _This is it, then. The moment of truth._ He was surprised that what he felt next was a single finger reaching between his buttocks and spreading the oil around the rim of his opening. He let out a sigh of pleasure that became a moan as the finger pressed into him.

 

“You like that?” Byerly asked.

 

“God, yes,” Ivan sighed. And he did, even if it was a bit uncomfortable at first when he added a second finger. But only for a moment, and then it just felt wonderful. As he gripped the pillow and looked at his headboard, though, he realized there was something missing. As good as it felt, this wasn’t like their earlier petting and pleasuring. It felt … almost clinical. He turned his head as far as his neck would allow and looked at Byerly. “By?”

 

“What? Too much?”

 

“No. God, no,” Ivan replied. “But … well you said this way is easier, but … is it possible to do this face to face?”

 

The hungry look on Byerly’s face was all the answer he needed. He moved himself onto his back and Byerly took hold of his legs just beneath the knees and positioned them so that he could reach where he needed to. He poured more oil onto his hands, and pressed two fingers into Ivan again, then leaned forward to kiss him as his fingers moved slowly inside. Ivan captured his tongue gleefully. _This is more like it._ He squeaked a bit when the two fingers became three, but once again the discomfort passed. Byerly pulled back and handed Ivan the oil. “Now put some of it on me.”

 

Ivan poured a little into his hands, rubbed them together to warm it, then he stroked it onto Byerly carefully. Byerly then leaned him back, repositioned his legs again, and centered himself, looking up at Ivan questioningly. Ivan nodded, and tried not to brace himself as By took hold of his hips and pressed into him. He yelped in startled pain. He wasn’t exactly surprised it had hurt. He was just … surprised that it hurt. He was also surprised that By was now stroking him with an oil-slicked hand. Not particularly fast and not, he realized, intended to do anything but distract and possibly relax him. He sighed, and By leaned over him for a kiss, pressing a bit further inward in the process.

 

They stayed like that for a moment, kissing and stroking until Ivan’s body finally relaxed. Byerly wiped his hand on the bedcover and returned it to Ivan’s hip, then, and slowly seated himself fully inside. Ivan gasped, then leaned up for another kiss. As Byerly began moving inside him, Ivan found himself moaning his name, among other things, into that delightfully warm mouth. Some small, detached part of his mind noted that he usually very pointedly did not use names during sex. He really didn’t care.

 

Their movements intensified as Ivan strove to meet Byerly’s thrusts and By tilted his hips looking for just the right angle. Ivan cried out as he felt Byerly rub against some amazingly sensitive spot deep inside him, and climaxed so explosively he thought he might pass out. Byerly joined him in a moment, and Ivan thrilled to the sounds of his climax and the feel of warmth spreading inside him.

 

By slipped out and stretched out next to him on the bed. Ivan grabbed the edge of the bedcover and yanked it to wrap around them both, before leaning in for a drowsy, sated kiss, so very different than the hungry ones they had shared before. Byerly was already dozing off, and Ivan looked at him in wonder and surprising fondness. He guessed he had his answer. Soon, he, too, succumbed, and slept.

 

* * *

 

When he awoke, Ivan was only moderately surprised and disappointed to find himself alone. He didn’t figure Byerly for being any more fond of morning-after conversations than he was, though he thought they might have managed to share a cup of coffee, at least. He went to the lav to freshen up, and then picked up his clothes from their various spots on the floor. He tossed most of them into the laundry bin for his cleaning service to deal with, but went to place the belt on its hook in the closet. As he did, he noticed something a bit different about it. He took a closer look, and discovered it was the same one he had inadvertently brought home from Byerly’s last week. He hung it up anyway, and smiled to himself.


End file.
